Dragon Moon (26 page)

I hadn't expected her to take charge at Claypool's. I've seen now some of what lies beneath her sweet exterior and I find myself as attracted to her strength as I am to the rest of her.

Chloe finally glances toward me, catches me staring. “What?” she says.

“Just thinking that I love you.”

“Good, you should.”

Traffic thins a bit as we climb up into the mountains. The land becomes more rural, dotted with small farms. We pass the occasional dilapidated store and dozens of wandering goats and chickens. I turn to my bride and say, “What do you make of what Claypool said?”

“Read the faxes first,” Chloe says, returns her attention to the road and whatever thoughts she might have.

I unroll the papers, smooth them on my lap and arrange them in chronological order. All are typed on LaMar stationary, the first fax dated June 12th, the last July 20th. I think back, exhale a large breath. When Chloe and I met it was still May. I can't believe so much time has passed since then.

Shaking my head, I fold the faxes, fold them again as if neatly reducing their size will somehow make the problem go away. How could I leave Henri so undefended? How abandoned he must feel. I fold the papers again. How I look forward to confronting Derek. The papers have become compact and stiff, and still, I fold them again.

“I have to call Miami,” I say.

“We'll be in Ocho Rios in an hour. We can find a phone then,” Chloe says.

“I can't stand what your brother says he's done to Henri. The boy's just five years old!”

“He never did understand children. All of us have felt his wrath at one time or another,” Chloe says. “At least he hasn't done any permanent harm to Henri.”

“It's still not acceptable.”

“Of course not. I expect you'll show him so.”

I will indeed, I think; then the effrontery of the rest of it overwhelms me. “Can you believe they're trying to steal everything?”

Chloe nods. “I believe it. But we're going to find a way to stop them.”

“Damned right we are. First thing, we have to get to Miami, soon.”

“With what?” Chloe says. “We have no papers, no ID. How much money do you have left?”

I pull out the cash wadded in my pocket, count it. “Forty-three dollars, twenty-five cents.”

My bride laughs. “That will fill the gas tank again and pay for some prepaid phone cards, but then what?”

“All you have to do is get me to Montego Bay and I'll take you home in luxury.” I grin at the confusion evident on my bride's face but only say, “Trust me.”

Maxim's General Store on the outskirts of Ocho Rios offers everything we need. Chloe fills the car's fuel tank at their pumps while I go inside the brightly painted store and buy phone cards. Afterwards, it takes me a few minutes to find the pay phones, but I'm glad to see they're located in the back of the store, in a quiet, deserted alcove near the storeroom.

Inserting my card, I dial LaMar Associates. Sarah picks up on the third ring, offers the standard greeting. I make my voice higher, a little harsh. “Arturo Gomez please.”

“Sorry, sir, he isn't in. Can I get anyone else for you?”

“When is he due back?” I say.

“I can't say, sir.”

“Is Claudia available?”

“Ms. Gomez no longer works here,” Sarah says, her voice turning brittle. “Perhaps if you could tell me your name and the purpose of your call, I can find someone else to help you.”

“I'll just call back later for Arturo.”

“Sir, he won't be here. He's out for an indefinite period. Either Mr. Tindall or Ms. Santiago can explain — if you'd like to speak to one of them.”

“Put me through to Rita.”

“Who may I say is calling?”

I try to think up a name, blurt out the one Chloe made up. “John Ames.”

Rita doesn't pick up for almost five minutes. When she does answer, her voice is brisk and impersonal. “Yes,” she says, “What's this about?”

Using my own voice, I say, “Rita . . .”

Her tone goes soft. “Peter dear,” she breathes into the phone. “I wasn't expecting to hear from you until later. . . .”

Unprepared for the intimate tone of her voice, I slam the phone into the receiver. Rita had never been that familiar with me. She could only have thought she was speaking with the other Peter.

I dial Arturo's cellphone again and once more get no answer. Then I dial Claudia's.

“Hey,” she says.

“Claudia, it's me, Peter.”

“So?” Her voice turns guarded, sounds careful to me.

“I'm concerned about your dad.”

“Me too,” she says. “Though I didn't think you'd care.”

“Of course, I do.”

She says nothing.

“Claudia listen,” I say. “I need your help.”

Claudia spits her words out. “You forget. I don't work for you anymore. Ask your flunkies, Rita or Tindall, to help you. I have more important concerns.” She disconnects her phone.

I slam the receiver down. No Gomez has ever spoken to me like that. I doubt any Gomez has ever used such a tone with any DelaSangre. None would ever dare. I'm tempted to think of Claudia — of all of them — as traitors. But as much as I would have liked them to see through Derek's façade, I know in reality, to them, Derek is me.

Taking a deep breath, I try to calm my anger away. Of course, Rita would welcome his advances — just as much as she would have mine. Why wouldn't Arturo and Ian follow his orders — no matter how illogical — without much resistance? If I told Gomez to fire his daughter, the man would, no matter how much it pained him. Why should I expect him to disobey Derek's?

I pick up the phone, put it down again, take another deep breath before I dial Claudia's number once more.

Claudia answers on the first ring this time. “Leave me alone,” she says before I can blurt out one word.

“Claudia, wait. Don't hang up. Let me explain. It's not the way you think it is!” I say.

“What am I confused about?” she says. “You fired me. My father was almost killed.”

“Arturo? What do you mean? What happened?”

Claudia laughs into the phone. “You're pathetic. You're one of the ones that found him.”

I shake my head. I wish I were there, face-to-face with her, so she could read my expressions. “Claudia, you have to listen to me. . . .”

“I don't have to do anything.”

“This is going to sound strange. The Peter you're talking about isn't me. I'm still in Jamaica.”

“Bullshit! I just saw you out on the bay in your crummy rental boat, less than an hour ago.”

“That wasn't me,” I say, trying to think of a way to convince her, looking around me for anything I might be able to use. To my relief, the pay phone still has its number printed on it, faint but readable, even showing the Jamaican area code, 876. “I can prove it! Call me back, here in Jamaica.” I read off the number to her.

“How do I know this isn't something you and Ian arranged?” Claudia says.

“Why would I bother? If I am the Peter you think I am, what reason would I have for pursuing you? You're already out and it appears so's Arturo. Take the number. Check the area code out with an operator if you need to. Just call me back.”